Page 62 of Break Me (Brayshaw High 5)

A growl leaves him, and he stretches his arms out, dipping back only to come in again.

Okay, so he doesn’t like people messing with his stuff.

I mean staff.

Noted.

Definitely not going to mention Jenson’s arms wrapping around me and pulling me in.

His eyes flash and he jerks away, charging toward the house.

Mac suddenly appears, his head snapping from his friend to me and back as he falls in line.

“You didn’t.” He glares.

“Didn’t what?”

He throws an arm out. “Taunt him.”

“Taunt him?” I jerk. “Are you joking? He’s acting like a crazy, unstable, confusing person!”

“Not an act, he’s exactly all of those things, Brielle. What did you say to him?”

“Nothing.” Not really.

He glares. “You talked out loud again, didn’t you?”

“I—”

Ooooh.

Oops.

“Fuck.” Mac spins and runs around the house, so I follow.

We get there right as Royce is tearing the door open to what must be Jenson’s truck.

He grabs him by the neckline of the shirt he must have just put on and rips him from the seat.

I gasp.

Someone laughs beside me.

I look over to find Chloe grinning with her phone in her hand. She pushes some buttons, then crosses her arms and smiles at the chaos.

She looks to me. “Oh, honey, get used to this, catalog it even. It makes for some good after-hour thoughts, if you know what I mean.”

I meet her eyes and she winks.

“Your boy’s got stamina, lots and lots of stamina. And since you arrived?” She giggles with a grin. “He’s pretty much exhaling testosterone, he’s so repressed.”

Yeah, I’m not touching any of that.

I rush closer to the sidewalk as Royce grips the guy by the neck and lifts him from the floor. He says something, but nobody else can hear it, and then Jenson lifts his hand and what do you know, it points toward me.

Royce whips around.

A loud, cruel laugh leaves him and then Jenson’s head meets the side mirror. Both he and his mirror crash to the ground.

Royce isn’t satisfied, and steps over him, but I’m done with this.

I shoot forward.

Mac tries to grab me, but I cut left quickly and evade him, grab an abandoned bottle from the grass and smash it against the hood.

Royce’s wild eyes snap up, his lip curling.

They flash when it’s me he finds.

“Stop.”

He leers at me through thick lashes. “Get the fuck out of here.”

“No. I said stop.”

“Baby girl, I will tear you apart—”

“So do it. This isn’t on him.” I explain, “He and another guy were about to light up the living room in there. I was helping.”

“Helping. By letting people touch you. By touching someone. That’s not helping, that’s hoeing.”

Anger burns my skin, and I step closer. “You are a dick and he was only playing along to defuse the situation. You said—”

“I don’t care what I said!” His shout is rushed and wrathful. “Listen to what the fuck I’m saying now or you’re gone.” His chest heaves and he steps over Jenson’s forgotten body, slithering toward mine. “You will touch no one, and no fucking one will dare to touch you. Do you understand?”

I clench my teeth and look away.

This is what I asked for, isn’t it? Him to tell me what he expects, what he wants me to and not to do.

So I don’t argue.

I turn back and meet his eyes with resolved strength in my own.

I will not get kicked out of this place, especially not yet.

My brother said he’s headed home tomorrow, and when he gets here, he’ll find out I am too.

“Okay, Playboy. No one touches me. I touch no one.”

His chest rises and falls rapidly and with eerily slow movements, he licks his lips and closes the slight gap between us. His eyes slide between mine, his warm, cinnamon and zest hinted alcohol breath fanning across my skin.

My body starts to heat, but this time for an entirely different reason.

He’s looking at me like a broken boy, like I hurt him and he doesn’t understand how it’s possible.

That makes two of us.

Royce comes even closer, his thumb finding and pressing into the hollow of my throat. He pushes a little harder, a need to be rougher twitching against me, but it’s with a gentle pressure he glides higher, until he’s lifting my chin.

My heart beats faster as I meet his muddled gaze.

Blood from his busted knuckles splats silently against my collarbone, shocking the skin there and creating prickles around it.

“You want to play, Tink, play,” he rasps headily. “Take. Demand.” His eyes darken and he leans forward, pressing the left curve of his lips to my ear, gliding them slightly, as if he has a need to press them against me, but he refuses himself. “Demand... and receive, my little Tink.”

Tires screech against the road in the distance, the cease of brakes following.

Royce steps around me, and my entire body finds the need to follow his escape, spinning with his as he slips away, taking the air from my lungs with him.